


Cosmic Joke

by just_a_rosie



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Ambiguous/Open Ending, F/M, Fake AH Crew, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21598108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_a_rosie/pseuds/just_a_rosie
Summary: A detective and one of the world's most notorious criminals are soulmates... Stop me if you've heard this one before.First words soulmate AU
Relationships: Ryan Haywood/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 74





	1. Exposition

**Author's Note:**

> I did it again. I made a soulmate AU with a not so happy ending.

You had been excited to move to Los Santos. You liked San Fierro well enough, but Los Santos needed you more. Or so you thought.

San Fierro had a gang problem to be sure, but it was nothing compared to Los Santos gang problem. Gangs ruled everything in Los Santos. Everyone in a position of power had their fingers in one gang's pie or another. That included the police department. It's why you were being brought in. Not only were you one of the best detectives in the gang unit in San Fierro, but you were from out of town. You most likely didn't have any connections to the gangs of Los Santos. You for sure didn't, actually.

So you got to Los Santos and they instantly assigned you to the Fake AH Crew. They weren't the biggest or the baddest, but they were the best and the most powerful. Despite having a good amount of information on them, they had yet to make any headway with imprisoning them.

There were seven main members to the gang.

The leader: Bojingles. How he managed to gather the most dangerous men and women in the city, no one knows. His signature look is an all black suit with colorful sneakers and an ever-changing mask. He tends to be on-ground during heists and leads the talking when there are hostages. There's a pretty strong theory that he is a guy by the name Geoff Ramsey who is a multi-millionaire in the area who no one really knows where the money comes from. Unfortunately there is no evidence concrete enough to back this theory.

The getaway driver: Monki. The only female of the main seven, but certainly not the only female Bojingles employs. Little has been seen of Monki as she is always in the driver/captain/pilot's seat, but she shows her masked face every now and then, usually hanging out a window with a big ass gun. Her signature look seems to be Hawaiian shirts and Christmas hats. She seems to be an expert driver/captain/pilot/whatever of any and all vehicles.

The tech guy: Vav. Vav is a flashy son of a bitch. He wears designer clothes and a gaudy pair of golden plated sunglasses. He is Bojingle's shadow during heists until he breaks off to hack into a safe or shut down a security system or what have you. There doesn't seem to be a system that exists that he can't hack into with his phone.

The demolition man: Mogar. Mogar is a man who knows a thing or two about explosives. Many a building have been absolutely demolished by his bombs. But he can control them too to, say, get into a safe without destroying the contents if Vav is unavailable to hack. His look is a brown leather jacket, jeans, and a mask that resembles a bear face.

The sniper: Brownman. How Brownman is able to nail some of the shots he takes without a spotter, you'll never know. His accuracy is insane. And somehow no one is able to tell where the shots are coming from until it's too late. Again, not much is seen of him, but he has been seen leaving crime scenes on the back of a bike with a hot pink sniper rifle slung over his back. He wears one of those stupid tuxedo t-shirts and a white half face mask.

The muscle: Rimmy Tim. Rimmy Tim is usually the one intimidating hostages and keeping them in check. He's a shorter guy, but boy is he muscley. He also seems to be a jack of all trades and has been reported to sub in for a good number of spots when someone is unable to complete a task. His look is a truly hideous orange and purple get up with a white Stetson and shades.

The psycho: Vagabond. Okay, technically his title should be interrogator, but the guy truly is insane. You've seen pictures of his handiwork and they aren't pretty. On heists he brings the big guns. His look seems to be a custom made black leather jacket with blue stripes and a custom made black skull mask. Unfortunately looking into where he might have had these items made brought up dead ends.

Bojingles also has a group that work with him known as B-team, but a lot less is known about them.

The thing about the Fake AH Crew, and the reason you're no longer excited to be working in Los Santos, is that they're rather important to the welfare of the city.

First and foremost, the FAHC have morals. They don't kill civilians, at least not on purpose. There have been a few casualties of idiot civilians not laying low and getting caught in the crossfire, but they weren't intentional kills and for all anyone knows, it could have been a cop's bullet that killed them. That doesn't make them good guys by any means, they still use cops as cannon fodder. The difference is that cops know what they're signing up for. And half of them are corrupt in this city anyways.

Second, the FAHC keep the other gangs in check. You know, the gangs that do intentionally kill civilians? They keep them from getting out of hand. If it wasn't for FAHC, the streets would be absolute chaos. Gang violence and wars everywhere.

So, no, you aren't excited about working in Los Santos, not anymore anyways.


	2. Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On with the story...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important: So much like 'Serendipity' this story has what could be classified as an unsatisfying ending. And much like 'Serendipity', I may one day continue this story if I come up with a good way to do so. For now it remains as is.

"Isn't it a little warm out to be wearing long sleeves?" Your new partner, Detective Miles Luna, said as he placed a coffee in front of you.

Luna's old partner, a man by the name Kyle Taylor, had been stepping out to take paternity leave just as you arrived, so the police sergeant, a man by the name Matt Hullum, assigned Luna to be your partner for the time being.

That was nearly three weeks ago.

In that time you've learned a few things about Luna. You learned he likes his coffee with an inordinate amount of sugar ("Really, Luna? Seven packets?") but he always has trouble deciding which flavored creamer to use. You learned that his carefree, doesn't take the job too seriously, personality is mostly for show and he actually has quite the compilation of intel on all the gangs in Los Santos. You learned he'd rather be working the K9 unit, but was too lenient in his training. And most importantly, you learned that it is very unlikely that Luna is dirty. Perhaps it's his demeanor, but there is just something about Luna that makes you feel like you can trust the guy.

You also learned he has an infuriating curiosity regarding your soulmark.

Luna, himself, has already met his soulmate and proudly shows off the now white words that were about some anime you didn't know or understand. Some guy named Kerry who works as a private doctor for the rich and famous.

Your own words were still black and always hidden from view. You'd gotten shit on over the words enough at the Academy, you learned long ago to hide them.

"It's still foggy outside, Luna," you pointed out, taking the coffee with a normal amount of sugar in it.

"Okay, but it's going to be too hot," Luna corrects.

"I'm not showing it to you, Luna. Just drop it."

"Fine, but-" before Luna can finish, he was interrupted by a voice full of authority.

"Luna! [Y/L/N]! Fakes are getting an early start this morning. Body dump, looks like Vagabond's work. Sent the address to your email. Get going," Sergeant Hullum called.

"Yes, sir," you and Luna chorused and hurried to gather your things and head out.

\---

The body was a woman with a tattoo that affiliated her to one of the lower gangs in the area. A gang that, as far as you are aware, the Fakes have no current beef with. Well, they probably do now. You would have been scratching your head over just why they had killed the woman, if it wasn't for the newspaper clipping pinned to her mess of a shirt. You recognized it instantly, Hullum had been furious about it. When you first arrived they had made sure to keep who you were on a need to know basis as the Fakes have been known to put an end to anyone investigating them. Someone had leaked your name and photo to the press.

The dead woman was an obvious threat. Not only because of the news clipping, but she had quite the resemblance to you as well. Similar skin tone and build, hair the same color and cut as your current style. Not the same as the photo which was from your Academy days. It was a clear message: they have eyes on you.

The woman was eviscerated. The only skin left untouched was that on her face and of her tattoo. They wanted her to be able to be identified as a criminal. One thing was for sure, Vagabond really liked his knives.

"You okay?" Luna asked you. You rolled your eyes.

"Not the first time I've been threatened. I'm going to make sure it won't be the last," you told him as you pulled off your gloves and placed them in one of the biohazard bags one of the crime scene techs held open for you.

You had to make people think you were trying hard to find them, that you were actually doing the job you weren't really doing. You had tried to transfer, but they had wanted to know why. You couldn't exactly tell them that you didn't want to catch the FAHC. They'd think you're crazy at best and dirty at worst. You were stuck.

"Yeah, sure, but come on, [Y/L/N], this is the Fakes! They're hardly some shitty run of the mill gang from back home. When they send a threat they mean it," Luna said. He was trying to persuade you off the case. You were touched that he cared.

Maybe this was your way off the case, but you weren't going to take it. Being a coward was worse than being crazy. Nearly as bad as being dirty. You wouldn't be a disappointment. You'll risk going toe to toe with Vagabond and his knives than disappoint your father. Again. Fuck your soulmate.

"We're not going to get anything from this scene. I suggest we leave our suspicions of the killer out of the paper. We don't need a gang war over this," you spoke as you made your way back towards Luna's car, ducking under the caution tape. You'd spent too many hours here already. It was pointless, the Fakes never left DNA or any other evidence behind. They left what they wanted found and that was it.

"Sounds like a plan. Hey, you want to grab some lunch before we head back to the station?"

"Isn't it a little early for lunch?" You asked checking your watch. Just barely eleven in the morning.

"Come on, I'm buying."

You nodded. You knew what this was. It was his attempt at cheering you up and getting your mind off of things.

Like always you guys got take out, this time it was Luna's turn to get out of the car and pick it up, and found a mostly empty parking lot to park in and eat your food. It was easier to talk about work this way.

"So, really, what is your issue with the soulmark thing?" Luna asked. Apparently you wouldn't be discussing work today.

"I've already told you, the words aren't work appropriate." It was half true.

"Oh come on, it's not like anyone at the station would care. We hear horrible shit all the time." That was also true.

"Look I just-" you suddenly felt a wave of tired wash over you. You're vision blurred and you got dizzy. You knew what this was instantly. You've been drugged.

"You son of a bitch, Luna!" You snarled, latching your hands around his throat with all your remaining strength. If you can just choke him out, there is a possibility that you could wake up first. But it was too late, Luna easily broke your sorry excuse for a grip as your world faded to black.

\---

As you regained consciousness, you easily remembered that you'd been drugged. The way your body ached and you tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth was one tip off. The other was that you weren't laying down, but instead sat up right and tied to a chair. You were trained to be quiet in these situations, to not give away that you were conscious, but you must have accidentally done something because a voice in front of you spoke up not long after you woke up.

"She's awake."

You looked up and were greeted with a blur of purple and orange. You blinked a few times to be certain, but no one else would wear those two colors together unless, maybe, on Halloween. It was June.

"I'm going to fucking kill Luna," you muttered to yourself.

"Oh, look, she actually is this time," Rimmy Tim said.

Fuck, they were good. He must have been saying that every now and then just to get you to reveal yourself when you actually were awake. Bastard.

"Hey Mulder, where's Skully?" You asked. Rimmy Tim was not their interrogator.

Rimmy Tim laughed at that, but it was the chuckle from behind you that caught your attention.

An arm stretched around your front to grip the chair and it was turned around with a loud scrape on the concrete floor. You came face to mask with the Vagabond.

"Cute laugh for a murderous psychopath," you told him, continuing with your nonchalance.

Those obviously weren't the right words to say.

In a flash, there was a knife to your throat and a growl emitted from the man in front of you.

"I'm going to kill you, you fucking pig!" He snarled and your stomach dropped.

No.

No.

No.

No fucking way.

"You've made my life hell, you know that? Just getting my start in this world and suddenly my forearm let's everyone know exactly what I am! You just couldn't fucking help yourself, could you?" Vagabond ranted, confirming what you already knew to be true.

"How the fuck do you think I feel? Two years into the Academy and the word 'pig' shows up on my skin!" You ranted back. "Not only was I a laughing stock, but the asshole who calls themselves my-" you couldn't bring yourself to say the word "-is at best a petty criminal with a mouth and a worst a - a-"

"A murderous psychopath?" Vagabond filled in the blank with a hiss.

"Exactly," you spat back.

Vagabond released you after a few more seconds and the chair clattered back to the ground. You hadn't even realized he had lifted not only you but the chair you were tied to off the ground.

"So, Detective, how much more information have you gotten on the Fakes that the police don't already have?" Vagabond asked, turning to a table full of tools (read: torture implements) and inspecting them.

None. You had none. You hadn't actually been working the case, just looking like you had. That was the worst part about this whole situation. You weren't even trying to catch these guys and yet they still captured you.

"Vag, what the hell are you doing? You can't interrogate her!" Rimmy Tim said, stepping forward enough to be in you periphery.

"Yes I can. Watch me," Vagabond said, grabbing a different knife and stepping towards you.

"Dude, I'm not an idiot," Rimmy Tim said, stepping in front of you. "I know what just went down here. You can't do that shit to your fucking soulmate!"

You flinched at the word.

"Trust that I am more than okay with the bitch ending up dead."

"No, dude. I'm not letting you do this. We're talking to Bo right now," Rimmy Tim said, grabbing Vagabond's wrist and tugging him towards the door.

"This is bullshit! Just let me do my job!" Vagabond argued, but let Rimmy Tim drag him away anyways.

The door slammed shut behind you and you were alone. There was no clock in here. No windows either. You had no idea how long you were out, but it couldn't have been longer than a few hours, surely.

You began to count the seconds. Then the minutes. By the time you reached forty counts of sixty you were forced to realize that they wouldn't be coming back all that soon. You were going to beg them to blow your brains out if you continued counting. So you began to observe the room instead.

Again, no clock or windows. It was a concrete room with no soundproofing meaning it's likely underground. There was a single door to the room directly behind you. If you had to guess the size of the room you'd say it's about twelve by eight. The wall with the door and it's parallel wall being the shorter ones. Not much room, basically. Probably helps break people who get claustrophobic.

Apart from the lone chair you sat on, the only other furniture was the table of torture tools. Long rectangular and stainless steel to match your chair, it sat in the far corner of the room to your left. It was full of various knives and other sharp and pointy things to make you bleed. Pliers, sheers, saws and various other implements to remove body parts. Rope and chains. You could probably hop over to it and grab a knife, but that wouldn't do you much good with your hands cuffed behind your back. You're just surprised that they hadn't bolted the chair to the floor.

The only other things of note in the room were from bolts in the ceiling and the floors on which things could be secured, and a drain on the floor in the far corner that didn't hold the table. No hose so they must bring in a pressure washer or something. And the single bulb hanging from the ceiling, casting a dull glow around the room.

You were secured to the chair with chains. Your wrists secured with handcuffs and those handcuffs chained to the back of the chair. Your ankles were chained to the legs, the chains there were welded onto the chair so you couldn't lean back and slip them free. This meant you also couldn't lift your foot enough to get a good knee in if one of your torturers leaned over you. You were stuck.

You had two options. Continue counting or reflect on what had just happened between you and Vagabond.

You continued counting.

For about ten more counts of sixty and now you were strongly considering getting that knife to see if you could possibly slide it between your own ribs.

So, you'd finally found your soulmate. Hurray for you. Not.

You knew from the day your mark appeared on your twentieth birthday that this wouldn't be a fun experience. You were telling the truth to Vagabond, you knew the best your soulmate could have been was some mouthy, likely drunk, bastard that you were booking for some small crime. You would have never imagined he'd be one of the most wanted men west of the Mississippi.

Before you got your soulmark you had always assumed that criminals must only be soulmates with other criminals. That there was no way that two people with such different morals would get along well enough to be compatible. Maybe those scientists were right. Maybe it has nothing to do with personality and everything to do with genetic compatibility.

You were soulmates with the Vagabond. Vagabond. You didn't even know the dick's name. Or even like what he looked like. But that didn't really matter, did it? He wanted you dead. And you wanted him dead too. Your standing on FAHC being good for this city be damned.

Vagabond hadn't always been with FAHC. He was actually the last to join up. They could survive without him. He had been a mercenary travelling all over the country. One of, if not the, most feared mercenaries out there. He took on seemingly impossible assassination after seemingly impossible assissination. No one knows for sure when he started, but he got important enough to get a name about a decade ago. With what he said about starting at the same time as his soulmark appeared that'd make him at least thirty. But he probably took a while to get to that level. So probably mid thirties. Definitely older than you. You just celebrated a quarter century last birthday. But no one looked at a couple weird for age differences if their marks were white.

Not that you planned on being a couple with the man. No, it seems you were meant to die alone. Probably soon, too.

You began counting again.

\---

One hundred and twelve counts of sixty later and the door finally opened behind you. You leaned your head back enough to see an up-side-down Bojingles in the doorway. He was not wearing a mask and you can now safely confirm that he was, in fact, Geoff Ramsey. You were so dead.

"You know, I've been tortured various ways in the past. Whips, knives, hammers. Hell, I even had bamboo shoots forced under my nails by this one Asian gang in San Fierro. Never broke once. You guys leave me alone in a room with nothing to do for a couple hours and suddenly I'm ready to spill my guts if for nothing else than for something to fucking do. Seriously, bravo," you ramble out to break the silence. "Only issue is that I really don't know anything the precinct didn't already know. Well," you admonish, gesturing to his face as best you could with your bound hand, "now I do. But that's by your own doing."

"A detective with your case history not able to get anything substantial in three weeks? I don't buy it," Ramsey said, closing the door and walking towards you.

"My case history. Right. Tell me, how did you get Luna to work with you guys? He hardly seems like the kind of guy to put aside her morals for a big paycheck." You tracked Ramsey through the room as he moved to lean against the table.

"His soulmate works for me. You know how people are, they'll do anything for love."

You snorted.

"Well don't expect the same out of me."

Ramsey's head tilted and he changed the subject. Obviously not ready to confront the elephant in the room.

"You didn't answer my question."

Well, you're all for ignoring the pachyderm as well.

"I didn't find anything because I wasn't looking for it." At Ramsey's raised brow, you continued, "I know as well as you do that a city like Los Santos can't be run by some carrot using mayor. It needs to be run by someone with a stick. Or, you know, a conglomerate of the best criminals under the sun."

"But you never went dirty," Ramsey pointed out, sounding genuinely confused.

"No, I didn't. But, admittedly, that may be because I've never been put in this circumstance before." It was a clear invitation.

"And what circumstances would that be?" He was fishing for the soulmate reasoning. Didn't you just tell him that you weren't about that?

"The one with a gang with morals." You weren't going to take the bait. Not even to deny it.

"If I uncuff you, will you do something stupid?"

"No," you said before thinking on it and correcting yourself. "Well, I might punch you, but only because your the only thing around to punch. I've had a bad day."

"Eh, I'll risk it," Ramsey said, finding a key on the ring he pulled from his pocket and walking around the chair.

You heard the click of them unlocking and you pulled your hands to the front of you and began rubbing your wrists before you heard the clunk of the handcuffs hitting the floor. They had been tight enough to hurt but not cut off circulation. These men were professionals after all.

"So why are my hands free?"

Ramsey gave you a wide berth as he went back to his spot by the table.

"Need them free to shake on a deal."

You looked at him skeptically. Sure you had invited the question, but you didn't expect it to come. He showed you his face, you should be dead.

"I'm tired of killing the detectives they keep assigning our case to. It's a simple deal, really. You continue as you've been and we'll do what we do. Only thing that changes is that we leave you alone."

"I'm going to get taken off the case if I give them nothing," you pointed out.

"A crack kid like you? Former star of the San Fierro gang unit? Nah. And anyways, we'll give you some lead every now and then. It'll lead to a dead end but it will be better than what anyone else in your position has gotten before."

Ramsey held out his hand.

"So, deal?"

You stared at the proffered hand.

"And I don't have to be any any contact with you guys at all?"

"Only to pass on the lead."

"Then I have one stipulation."

Ramsey raised a brow and nodded for you to continue.

"Vagabond doesn't do that job."

Ramsey snorted.

"Don't worry. He requested the same thing. In almost the exact same words, actually. It's almost as if you two were meant for each other or something."

You glared up at Ramsey, but shook his hand anyways.

It's not the ideal life you had planned, but any life without having to interact with your soulmate is better than the alternative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated. (Seriously I promise you that as long as your goal is to better my writing and not tear me down, I will not be offended if you have a critique)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated. (Seriously I promise you that as long as your goal is to better my writing and not tear me down, I will not be offended if you have a critique)


End file.
